Fantome de Bellus
by Desaire
Summary: Many years after the death of Erik 'The Phantom of the Opera', his body and soul is reborn in his great, great grandson, Erik Bellus. The child of his exact resemblance is casted out of the world, even in the present day of 2006.
1. Prologue

**Prologue…**

Charles de Chagny (_1882-1963_)

Charles de Chagny, son to Christine de Chagny and Erik Destler. Christine, during her last hours with Erik as he lay on his death bed, gave herself over to him to continue on Erik's legacy. Keeping their lovemaking a hidden secret, after Erik's death, Christine went on in life with her husband Raoul de Chagny.

Raoul knew as time passed, that Charles was not his real son, for the child looked neither of his own visage nor Christine's. He knew that Christine must have lain with Erik before his death. Erik was his rival, his enemy, he should have been furious with what his wife had done to betray their marriage. But jealousy and rage never came.

Charles grew to love Raoul as his father, loving him dearly with all his young pure heart. He grew to become a great musician, skilled like no other musical artist before, at least one that was never truly known.

Christine never told Charles who his real father was, not even on her own death bed. She knew that Raoul had figured out her secret, but they never discussed it, he had accepted and loved them both none the less.

Christine passed out of this world, her secret safe with her family, her love known for her husband, for her son, and for a man that was only ever loved once in his life. Raoul buried her to her wishes, the Persian diamond necklace, formerly the cat collar of Ayesha, Erik's treasured pet; a box of wilted and dried up rose petals, both red and white; and the wedding ring given to her by Erik.

Charles took loving care of his father, his career in music well known throughout all of Europe; he was adored by many and lived a long and prosperous life bringing many of his progeny into the world.

Before Raoul de Chagny passed on, on his death bed he told Charles of the long hidden secret of who his real father had been. Charles wasn't shocked, in fact, he seemed to of taken the news quite well; almost as if he knew, deep down in his heart, that Raoul had not been his blood father, but he was his father none the less. After Raoul's passing, Charles researched the Paris Opera Houses' archives for Erik, the man known as 'The Phantom of the Opera', studied his family records, and delved deep into the past of any and all evidence of Erik and Christine.

Five years it took him. Five years to find all evidence as to who and what his real father was. During those five years he had married, and was expecting his first child. Nine months later, Erik de Chagny was born, and Charles made sure that this name would live on through history.

So passed on the progeny of Erik, 'The Phantom of the Opera'. His skills, behavior, genius, heart, soul, and mind surviving throughout the years. Every child born of one resemblance. And none ever received not one horrific disfigurement. Every child blessed with beauty and perfection.

But beauty and perfection never last forever. As time slips us by, the genes of a family member will be repeated, no matter how gruesome, no matter how insane and unfair.

The soul of Erik, the face and body, the temper, the behavior, the skills, the genius, after time was bound to rise again. Many have feared that the Phantom himself would be resurrected one day. Many have prayed that no other being would have to suffer from that madman of a monster ever again. But none can defy what God creates, not even the creation itself.

What time period will Erik's deformed legacy child come into?

Will it be a period that accepts hideous disfigurements?

Will the child really inherit the madness, the insanity of 'The Phantom'?

Will the child end up like his great, great grandfather, alone with no one to love or care for him?

"**_No one will know where they will love…" _- Erik Susan Kay-Phantom**

━━━ **死 ━━━**

**A/N:** _The disfigurement of my phantom will be that of horrific pain from Leroux's version, but only on the right side of the face. I know, I know. Not exactly that abhorric, but come on. Bear with me, okay. I just lust something terrible after Gerry Butler's body in the movie version, so my Erik will have his body build, as well as the same left half of his face._

_If you don't like this version of Erik, I'm sorry that you feel that way. It's just how I'm going to write it. If you want, you can just pretend and envision Erik however you like._

_Thanks you. Please remember to R & R!_


	2. Cruelties of Man

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own "The Phantom of the Opera" nor its characters, though some of them are of my own creation, as well as this story plot. Enjoy!_

**━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 死 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━**

**Cruelties of Man**

They call me a monster, a hideous beast, a _thing_. At times I'm known as the living corpse, other times a freak that belongs in a traveling show. The world of man has not come far in its ever growing population, science, and acceptance towards those who are different. Whether it is of race, nationality, hell, mankind will shun you just from where one may live.

I once saw a man beaten to death in broad daylight just having a darker shade of skin. Mankind cares only for themselves, of their own petty greediness. They don't accept anyone unless you pay for it, usually with your life.

This was just so in my case.

At the age of nine I escaped to the United States of America. My mother had shunned me from birth due to a disfigurement of my face, which held a terrifying alikeness to that of a corpse. The first time I ever saw myself was when I was five years old, on my birthday. My mother thought it would be amusing to give me a mirror as a gift, although she wasn't so amused when I smashed that damned device to the floor where she was walking, causing her to step on the jagged shards of glass. I was locked in a three by four foot closet for two days after that. I learnt to hate mirrors and never cause physical pain to my mother again.

I loathed my mother, probably more so than she did me. She was a drunk and wicked woman. Many nights I would hear her come home with a new lover. Oh, how I hated her.

As for my father, I never met the man; he died in a car accident on his way to the hospital where my mother was in labor with me. I know she blames me for his death. I always wondered if he would have loved me or instead treated me with the same spiteful manner as my mother.

He was a wealthy Frenchman, a descendant of some noble family, and with his death, his fortune went to my mother. Though, he had written in his will that a rather large portion of his wealth was put in a separate bank account titled in my name. I took to heart that he loved me before he ever got the chance to see what I looked like. And I would never forget that.

I never went to school, my mother forbid it. I rarely ever went outside; even when I did it was to be at night when no one could see me. I spent my days in the attic of our home; I made that attic into such a world like no other. My mind was built into the very walls. Every nook and cranny had fallen prey to my vivid imagination and my rapidly increasing genius. I would spend days up there, not eating, not sleeping, and I knew that my mother did not care if I stayed up there for the rest of my life. From birth she wished me dead. Ever since she first laid those hazel, fear struck eyes on me she has wished that I was just some bad dream.

I've imagined what it must have been like once I exited my mother's womb. I have pictured her expression, couldn't have been much different from the looks she gave me as a toddler. I envisioned that the nurse ran screaming for her life, my mother looks down past her legs and sees the _thing_, the damned abomination that was to be known as her child.

Did she even hold me? For as long as I could remember she never once touched me with loving hands, never once told me she loved me, never once kissed me. Sometimes I wonder how I even survived those first few hours, let alone nine years. But I did.

I know that I was baptized, so someone must have held me. The old priest, David Karman, the only person who would willingly look upon me, would come and see me during his _spare_ time when I was younger. He must not have had much _spare_ time though, for I would only see him maybe a few hours of two days in a week.

David taught me what no other would. He was my mentor and father figure. And perhaps the only one closest to that I could call a friend. But his generosity did not last long. By the age of seven I found out that my mother was not only having a secret love affair with him, but she was paying him to teach me. And all that time he made it seem that he was helping me out of the goodness of his heart.

I cursed them both and never spoke to Monsieur Karman again.

Almost two years after my shocking discovery, Father David Karman left the life of priesthood to marry my mother in happy marital bliss. But that was damn near impossible since I was still in the picture.

Their greedy hearts plotted against me. Sought to kill me and steal my inheritance, so they could begin their new lives together. But I was not going to be bested that easily.

Three days before my ninth birthday I escaped from that wretched house, took what few belongings I cared for along with some clothing. Being the smart child that I was, I went to the local library and used their computers, the ones with internet access. I hacked my way into the bank security systems and found the code for my accounts. I had already stolen the bank card from a small safe hidden within the closet of my mother's bedroom.

During the night I went to a cashpoint machine and used the card, taking as much of the money that I could. Oh, the amount of money that I held in my small hands. With that much money, I was sure to be able to survive on my own. And with the card I could continue to withdraw from my account for years.

I bought a plane ticket set for America, forged a letter of my mother's signature so no other adult would question my being alone, and I was off.

I spent the next eighteen years traveling. I visited every state and once I did that, I moved on to explore the world. I found that I was greatly talented in music. In its beautiful sounds I found a semblance of peace.

Now, at the age of twenty-seven I was heading home, back to Paris, France.

I wonder if my mother is still alive. And if she is, how would she react to seeing me again?

At the moment, I am looking out on the vast waters of the Atlantic Ocean. It is midnight and there are a scarce amount of people on the deck of this cruise ship. It is cold; cold enough that I can see the white puff as I exhale. My mask feels even colder as I near my homeland.

"It is going to be greatly amusing to see the look of shock on her face when I arrive on her doorstep and claim what is rightfully mine. At least I will give her mercy by her not gazing in horror upon my face. This mask will be my gift to her." I say with indignation.

The stars are bright in the night sky. I see a shooting star, but do not make a wish. I have long ago learned not to expect my dreams or wishes to come true. To me, there is no God that is caring of His creations, or their hopes of beauty or a life of happiness.

"I am alone, and will always remain so."

**━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 死 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━**

A/N: _I really hope that nothing I have written has offended anybody in any way. I wrote what I felt that Erik would view of the world. What I thought that he might think or say. So please, no one take to heart my words if they seem wrong. It is just a story afterall. __Thank you. Please R & R!_


	3. Unexpected Phone Call

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own "The Phantom of the Opera" nor its characters, though some of them are of my own creation, as well as this story plot. Enjoy!_

**A/N:** _This chapter was very hard for me to write. There was so much I wanted to say, but I didn't want it to feel as though I was dragging it out. The ending of the chapter was not what I had first planned. But as I continued to write, I felt that this would work better than the original. WARNING: cliffhanger, so don't hate me. But it's so good._

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**Chapter Three**

**Unexpected phone call**

"Kayla de Gracia, straighten your back! Do not allow your knees to bend!" Madame Tabitha Quill slammed her instructors cane against the foot railing, only inches from where Kayla's right ankle was supported on.

"Madame Quill, I'm trying my best. I've been working so hard lately and am just so tired. In the past two days I've only had about eight hours sleep total." Kayla wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her left hand; it trembled faintly. A strand of her raven hair fell loose from its tight ponytail to curve around her pale, delicate face.

Madame Quill lowered her cane to her side, staring thoughtfully at the young woman. She hadn't noticed just how exhausted the poor woman looked until now. The old dance mistress may have seemed like a cold, stern woman, but on the inside she was caring and loving towards her students. Especially Kayla, since she had been friends with her mother before Karen died. Tabitha was like a mother hen when it came to her flock of pupils, always ready to protect them and make sure their well.

Tabitha was a woman of high standards and never expected anything less than what she knew instinctively what one of her girls were capable of. In Kayla's case, she was her top student of the corps de ballet in the Opera Garnier de Paris.

But today poor Kayla was lacking in alertness and her posture was slouched, and you could practically see her tiredness beating down on her much too thin, petite body.

When she wasn't dancing at the Opera, she worked at the Galeries Lafayette on Boulevard Haussmann, which specialized in high fashion, designer household, perfumes, and had a food hall. She worked Monday thru Friday, nine-thirty in the morning to six-thirty. Then she would practice at the Opera from seven o'clock to ten.

By the time she would get home, she was exhausted, but her day was far from over. Her father, Michael de Gracia, only a month ago had a heart attack that left him incapable of working as a carpenter at the Opera House or caring for himself. His left arm was useless, and the rest of his body was so weak that he could barely stand or walk for any length of time. Kayla would spend the remainder of her day with her father.

Michael's job had been their main source of income, but now only Kayla's job as a runway makeup artist paid the bills, medicine, and fed them. In Kayla's time at home she would care for the two of them and the housework. The past month was finally taking its toll on her.

Madame Quill knew of the hectic life the young woman lived and she understood hoe overly tired she must be. Ever since Karen's death, Tabitha had helped where she was needed; Karen and her had once been like sisters. Now, in these hard times, she worried for Kayla and her father's health.

Kayla, a woman who was usually bright and happy, now seemed solemn and gray. The light that once shone from her smiling face was gone, only a shadow of a smile would find its way to her red lips from time to time.

At the moment, her over-exerted body trembled slightly and Madame Quill didn't fail to notice. Her heart went out to Kayla and her fading father. Deep down, she knew that Michael would not be around much longer, the doctor's had already done all they could.

"It's alright, Kayla, I'm not expecting anymore from you today. You may go home and rest. Lord knows you need it. It's Friday, and you don't have work tomorrow, so how about you spend Saturday resting as well."

Kayla stood in front of Tabitha and desperately wanted to be held; she missed her mother terribly. But she knew better than to do so with the rest of the girls watching. Tabitha prided herself on being the stern woman that she was, and to show too much affection would loose some of the hard respect that Tabitha demanded. It was a complicated thing.

Tiffany, Tabitha's daughter, came up to stand with them. "Kayla, I asked mama and she said it was alright if I come over tonight. If you want I'll bring over some groceries so I can cook dinner for you and your father."

Kayla nodded. "Sounds good to me, but make sure you buy something relatively healthy. I've been making dinners lately that are good for dad, he can't take anything fatty or with a lot of cholesterol."

"Don't worry; I know just what you mean. I've been forcing my dad to eat better as well. He's so stubborn though. I'll be at your house around eight o'clock."

"Okay, I'll see you then. Thanks again Madame Quill, I promise to practice a few steps in the basement tomorrow so…"

"Nonsense, I said I want you to rest, so you will do as I say. Take the day off; you need to take better care of yourself. I know it's been hard with your father and all, but you can't let your own health become a problem."

"I understand; I will try to remember. I better get going then." She curtsied and left to the changing rooms. She hurried out of her ballet outfit and slippers, and into her regular street clothes, a red polo t-shirt, black jeans, and black Nikes with a black swoosh, and white jogging socks. Her black trench coat was lying across the bench beside her as she slipped in her shoes and stuffed her other clothes in her duffle bag.

She checked her cell phone for any messages before she walked out of the girl's changing room. A mechanical voice told her that she had two voicemails; one from her boyfriend, Jacob, and the other from her father.

"Hey, Kayla, it's me Jacob. I… uh… Listen, I know that this is bad timing but I'm going away this weekend with a few of the guys from the University… I…" A young woman's voice could be heard from in the background. "Jacob, hurry up and just tell her, everyone else is ready to go." Jacob coughed, his voice came back on a little hesitantly, and then he said the words so fast that Kayla wasn't sure she heard him right. "I don't think our relationship is working out, we never see each other anymore. You're always busy and… Dammit! I'm sorry, Kayla, but I just can't be with you. I am sorry, I… I have to go. Bye, Kayla."

Kayla sat stunned, looking at her phone in disbelief; the buzz of the dial tone echoing in the empty room. Tears threatened to spill, but her sudden anger stole over any other emotion. "That ass!"

"Who's an ass?" Tiffany walked through the doorway, pausing a second to look over Kayla's flushed face. "What's up?"

"Jacob, that's who! He broke up with me, didn't even have the decency to tell me in person. He just left a voice message on my cell. That ass!"

"He did what? Did he say why? I'll kick his face in!" Tiffany sat down beside her, throwing an arm around Kayla's shoulders.

"Here listen." Kayla replayed the message and gave it to Tiffany. She watched her friend's eyebrows furrow and her cheeks flare red in anger.

"What a freaking jerk! And that girl's voice, that was Tracy; the wench who was always trying to steal Jacob away from you in high school. I bet she had something to do with this. I'll strangle them both."

"Why would he do this to me? He knows that dad is sick, and how I have to work to keep up with the bills, and how important dancing here at the Opera is to me, and taking care of dad…" The tears spilled down her cheeks and a sob escaped her throat.

Tiffany pulled Kayla in for a tighter hug, taking deep breaths herself to calm down. "He just like any other twenty-six year old guy. They don't think ahead before they say something incredibly stupid. Don't worry, he'll regret this. You're the best chick I know, it's his own loss." She squeezed Kayla tighter, afraid to let her go or else she would start crying herself.

Kayla pulled away first and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Ok. It's ok, I can get past this. I have bigger things to worry about than some stupid boy. Dad left me a message, I'm going to check it then go home."

She punched in the buttons and put the phone to her ear. Her father's hushed, yet still handsome voice came over the line.

"Kayla, honey, Sandra just left the house and said that she was quitting. I pleaded with her to at least stay until you got home. Apparently someone else offered her a job that pays a hell of a lot better than we do. When you get this message, please hurry home, I… I hate to make you worry, but I don't feel… ok. My chest is tight, like I might…" He paused for a whole minute. Kayla's heart jumped in her throat, her face paled instantly. "Please, Kayla, baby, come home. Oh, GOD!" She could hear his gasp on the other end, and then a pain-filled grunt, something that sounded like glass breaking and a loud thud, then silence.

Kayla screamed before she could even think; a wordless cry. The time on the phone said that the message was sent a little over two hours ago. She bolted up, grabbed her coat, shoving her cell in the pocket. Tiffany stood up with her.

"What is it, Kayla? For goodness sake tell me!" She ran after her, but Kayla was too fast, as though there was something chasing her and her life depended on it. They ran past Madame Quill, who had to jump out of their way or get plowed over.

Tabitha called out to them, but the look on Kayla's face was enough; something had happened and it wasn't good in the slightest. She ran after them.

Everything around Kayla faded, as though she were in a hazy tunnel; all she could see was straight in front of her, a clear path leading her to her father. She burst out of the front doors of the Opera House and ran down the sidewalk like a madwoman. The streets were cluttered with cars and taxis. She zigzagged through the traffic with one thought in her mind. _I have to get to him!_

Her house was only ten blocks from the Opera, and she made it home in record time. Fumbling with her house key, she unlocked the front door and pushed it open, nearly smashing the doorjamb through the wall.

She halted just inside the entrance. Her heart stopped, the blood frozen in her veins. She was suddenly lightheaded and fell to her knees. Her eyes cleared and then fixed on the still figure sprawled on the floor in the hallway by the desk where the phone never made it back to its cradle.

She swallowed another scream, slowly crawling towards the man lying there. Her breath was coming too quickly and ragged, she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Tears burned as they trailed down her face and made wet plopping sounds on the hardwood floor.

"D…dad? Oh, God, please, no." She whispered so softly she didn't even hear the words. She was so beyond shock that she didn't even hear the footsteps behind her or the sharp intake's of breath.

"Daddy?" She was finally beside him. He didn't move… much. There was the barest of movement as he inhaled and a strange wheezing sound as he exhaled. Kayla touched his shoulder, and then grasped it to roll him over on his back. His face was ashen, a sheen of sweat covering all parts of exposed skin. Kayla wasn't sure what to do. She did all that came to mind.

Kayla laid her head down on his chest. There was the faintest trace of his heart thudding, but it was too slow, too spaced apart between beats. But he was still alive. A sound caught between a shout and a sob left her lips as she pulled her father's large, limp body into her arms.

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**A/N:** _I am sorry if this chapter seemed unfair and sad. But it plays a major part in the events that unfold within the story. Please R & R!_


	4. Coping With Hardship

**A/N: **_I'm so sorry that it has taken me this long to update. Forgive me. I've had writers block and have been suffering from migraines, and I also have not been able to get computer access. Again, I'm sorry and will try to remember to update. Since I am busy with real life problems, I may only be able to get a chapter out every two weeks. So please bear with me, this story gets better I promise. Thnx._

**Side Note:**_ This chapter is actually a two parter. I had planned on it being only one, but it was getting long and my deadline to update had already passed. So I split it up into two parts. Sorry, but this had to be done._

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**Chapter Four**

**Coping With Hardship**

Kayla paced back and forth from outside the living room door. Tears had dried on her face leaving glistening tracks. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, the sick feeling within her stomach never once abating.

Tiffany Quill was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase that led up to the second floor. She too was hugging herself, and being held by her mother who sat beside her. Both women had tried to comfort Kayla, but she had pushed them away and kept to herself.

When Madame Quill entered the home and saw the horrible sight before her, and seeing that Kayla was in such a state of shock that she couldn't do anything but hold her father, Tabitha retrieved the phone and dialed an ambulance as well as their family doctor whom had told them to call in case something drastic had happened. Together the three women had brought Michael into the living room to lay him down on the couch.

At that point Kayla had come to her senses partially. She had begun CPR for her father, and had done so until the paramedics arrived. They got there at the exact same time Dr. Stephelle walked through the front door. Both the EMTs and doctor went to check on Michael. Kayla had gone into the room with them. After a few minutes it was plainly obvious that there was nothing anyone couuld do. Dr. Stephelle had warned that Michael's life was waning and that he would not last much longer. He had told Kayla that the inevitable was going to happen and just to accept it.

As painful as that statement had been, she never fully allowed herself to believe. She forced the idea in the deepest part of her mind where she did not have to dwell on it. But now, all she could think of was that this was her father's final hour.

The paramedics had left the house to wait in the ambulance. And with directions from the doctor, the call had already gone out for the Coroner to come expecting to pick up a body.

That all had been ten mintues ago. The door opened and Kayla looked up to see Dr. David Stephelle pop his head out, a grave look on his face. No one had said anything. There was nothing really quite to say. Everyone already knew what was going to happen. There was nothing to do but wait for the dreadful moment when the Coroners walked throught the front door.

"Madame Quill, Michael would like to see you for a minute." His voice was hollow, devoid of any real emotion. But is was a mask. Michael and David had grown up together, went to school, college, and were best friends. Both even persuded the same woman, Karen, but Michael won her heart. David was of course jealous, and would always love Karen, but he still valued his friendship with Michael. They were like brothers afterall.

Tabitha stood, releasing her grip on Tiffany. As she passed by Kayla she brushed her hand down her arm, but Kayla moved away, denying herself any form of comfort. Tabitha sighed and followed the doctor into the room, closing the door behind her.

Michael de Gracia looked barely recognizable. His face was ashen, his eyes sunken in and surrounded by bluish-black brusies, white lines caused by strain were etched on the sides of his mouth. The man seemed so vulnerable lying there; a man that was once strong, well-muscled. But now, now he was reduced to nothing more than an empty shell, a sad reminder of the once loving and powerful Michael de Gracia.

"Michael?" Tabitha called out softly. She was afraid she knew why he had asked to see her. He had already once brought her aside and had a long talk about what he wanted done when his time came, what he needed her to do.

Michael's eyes fluttered, his lashes slowly lifting, like a heavy curtain revealing dark, glossy covered eyes. Poor imitations of his usual bright, glowing hazel orbs. Eyes that held intelligence, happiness and love; not pain and an undescribable amount sadness. He turned those painfilled eyes to her, and even that small movement seemed to of hurt him.

"Tabby..." A faint smile touched his blue lips. 'Tabby' had always been his nickname for her. Like David, she had been part of his life growing up. More like a sister to him than just a friend. Since he had grown up an orphan, he treasured those that he could claim as friends and loved ones.

Tabitha moved closer, shifting to her knees at his side by the couch. With a trembling hand, she took hold of his ice cold one and clasped them together. Hesitantly, she brought up their entwined hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles gently. With her other hand she brushed his hair back out if his face.

"I'm here, Michael, I'm here. Please, tell me what you want me to do. Tell me, and I'll do anything that you ask of me." Her voice faltered, a sob threatening to break free. She took a deep breath to help settle herself. She bit her lip and swallowed loud enough for all three of them to hear.

"My sweet, Tabby. Always straight down to business with you. One of your many qualities that I love. But yes, you are most right. There is something that I need to ask you. Do you remember that time, not but a few weeks ago, when I asked you to help me with my will?"

"Yes, I remember. You asked me many things, most of which included Kayla." A tear spilled down her cheek; she blinked back more, refusing to break down in front of him when it was apparent that their time was dire and there was still much to be said.

"Good. Well, Tabby, I need you to do all that I had asked of you then. I need you to take care of Kayla for me. She has no one else, only your family, and maybe you, David, but my baby needs more than just friends. She will need the support of a family that loves her. I know that she will not survive my death so easily. She just barely made it through Karen's, but she at least had me as her rock, a safety line in her shattered life. This new hardship may very well destroy what little spirit she has left."

Michael suddenly gasped, clutching at his chest, his eyes closing tight in pain. A low moan escaped his lips as the agony tore through his body. No sooner had the attack come that it was gone. Leaving Michael breathing harder, more labored. His body shook with little aftershocks.

David was already checking his pulse. His demeanor finally crumbled. Several tears fell, and his hands trembled. As a doctor he had been around death plenty, but it was nothing compared to when you witness one of your own loved ones in pain and slowly dying before your very eyes. He took a deep, shuddering breath and took a step back to give him some space.

"Michael, are you still with us? You can't die yet! Kayla has to see you one last time. Please, Michael, hold on just a little bit longer. For Kayla." Tears were running in torrents down her pale cheeks. She was failing at keeping it together. "I understand what you want me to do, Michael, and I promise with my whole heart that I will care for and love Kayla as if she were my own daughter. It won't be that hard really, I already love her so much." A small smile curved at her mouth, but quickly faded. "I swear to you I will make sure that she survives."

"As will I." David added. Tabitha looked up at him. "I will. If there should be anything that our Kayla needs, I will be there for her. She will still have a family to turn to. Always." He reached out and took hold of Michael's other hand. "Do you hear me, bro, you do not have to worry about a thing. I will love her like a daughter too." Deep down within his heart and soul he had always wished that Kayla had been his child, his child that he shared with Karen. And if this were the only way to share something with his beloved Karen and do something, anything to prove to Michael that he still held dear their friendship, he would do it. Kayla loved him like an uncle, and he would do all in his power to be there for her.

Michael found that he still had the strength to speak, as well as smile. "I would greatly appreciate that, David. Thank you, both of you. Tabitha, you'll need to explain all the terms and agreement we went over, okay?" He took several deep breaths, closing his eyes briefly to pull back as much strength as possible. "Please, could one of you send for Kayla now." He coughed violently, pulling his hands away from his family to cover his mouth. He felt something warm and liquid splash into his palms. Gazing at them, he saw blood spotting his skin. He looked afraid as he turned to stare up at Tabitha.

David grabbed a cloth from the small coffee table and quickly helped wipe away the blood, while Tabitha went to the door to call Kayla in. She glanced back at Michael, her heart already broken and crying out to him.

**_xXx_**

Kayla had resumed pacing up and down the hallway, and Tiffany was still sitting on the staircase. Tabitha opened the door and stepped out to face Kayla. Immediately the young woman stopped moving and looked Tabitha straight in the eye, her breathing catching in her throat.

"Kayla, he wants to see you now. But before you go in let me just warn you; this is more than likely the last time you will be with him. He doesn't exactly look like himself, so be prepared for if he seems different. He's still in his right mind, but he is having trouble breathing and speaking. His voice is very quiet so you will have to lean in close to hear him. Do you understand what I'm saying, sweety? This is important." Tabitha spoke with a calm, soft voice; one a parent would use to talk to a child. Carefully.

Kayla didn't respond, instead she just walked past Tabitha and into the living room. Tiffany stood up and looked to her mother, fresh tears glistening in her eyes. She walked up to her and threw her arms out to be held. Tabitha caught her and held her tight.

"Come on, dear, we need to be in there as well. Once Michael passes on, Kayla is going to need us there by her side. Most likely she will not be able to handle her emotions."

Tiffany nodded and followed her mother into the room after Kayla. Both holding onto the other for emotional support.

**_xXx_**

Kayla froze in the doorway, the color draining from her beautiful, delicate face. Michael wished with all his heart and soul that he could wipe that tormented look from her face. The haunting pain from her glorious, moss-green eyes.

"Honey, come here, it's ok." His voice choked out. It took much of his willpower not to fall apart and cry. This was his last few precious minutes left with his only child, he had to be strong for her sake.

Kayla hesitated, but slowly made her way to her father's side. As she reached him she fell to her knees so hard that everyone winced knowing that it had to have hurt, but she showed no sign of the physical pain. She threw her arms out to hold him around his torso as she laid her head down on his chest. The whole time she hadn't made one sound, or shed one tear.

A sound like white noise had filled her ears, blocking out anyone's voice for half a minute. Her lungs burned for air. It was then that she noticed she was holding in her breath, making her light-headed in the process. She pulled back enough to look her father in his still handsome face. What had Tabitha been talking about? He still looked the same caring, loving man who used to give her piggyback rides as a child; the same man who gave her her first musical intrument and taught her how to play it; the same man who held her so close when her mother died.

"This can not be happening..." She whispered so softly to herself.

"But it is, baby. There's nothing left anyone can do. My heart is failing and my body is deteriorating. I'm dying." As much as it hurt him to say those awful words, they had to be said. She had to heard them from his own lips.

"Please, dad, no. You can't leave me here alone. You can't, you're all I have, I can't lose you." She sobbed and smothered her face in his chest as the tears finally cascaded down her cheeks to soak into his shirt.

"Kayla, listen to me very carefully." He raised his trembling hands to grasp either side of her head. She struggled, shaking her head back and forth. She was whispering something so quietly that Michael had to lean closer to hear that she was saying 'no' over and over like a mantra.

Michael looked beseechingly towards Tabitha. The older woman could practically read his expression.

_Please, take care of her._

Again he focused all of his attention on his daughter, efficiantly fazing out everything else around him. "Kayla, honey, look at me, please. I need you to pay attention to what I'm about to say and I need to know the you understand." He gently held her chin, raising it up so she could meet his eyes. With his other hand her wiped away her tears.

Kayla knew that she had to pull herself together. If this was going to be her last few precious moments with her father, her only family left, then she would force herself to be stronger. She had to be. For him. She nodded twice, blinking away anymore tears from falling, and taking a deep, shuddering breath.

Michael took his own deep breath and released her chin so he could grasp her hands tightly in his own. "There's so much I need to tell you, but I'm afraid that I've run out of time. And for that, I'm sorry, baby. God, I wish so many things, but it just seems so unfair. I don't want to leave you, honey, but no one can escape death. When God decides that it's your time, then..." He closed his eyes as a fresh wave of tears streamed down his cheeks. Try as he might, the thought of losing his only daughter, never seeing her beautiful, angelic face, or hearing her heavenly voice again seemed more painfil than the writhing pain tearing through his chest to his heart.

Time seemed to freeze as Kayla's memories flashed to the forefront of her mind. She knew that he would not be with her forever, she understood death. But for him to leave her so soon, so early in both their lives; it just wasn't fair. At the age of thiry-two, Michael's heart condition worsened. Karen, her mother, had died only two years prior at the age of twenty-six; Kayla had only been six years old at the time.

Now, twelve years later, Michael's heart was so far gone that death was within reach, and only at the age of fourty-four. He just seemed too young to die. And Kayla, at the age of twenty, was about to become an orphan. Sure she had friends that were so close to her heart that she considered them family, but they just weren't the same as flesh and blood relatives.

From the time that Kayla was eight, she remembered spending an uncounted amount of time in hospitals when her father's heart weakened and became open and susceptible to frequent attacks. The doctor's had prescibed medication and it seemed to have worked for many years. But it was only three months ago when they became more progressive, and then earlier that month he had that one attack sent his body off the deep end.

* * *

**A/N:**_ I know this is a terrible place to cut, but I am having writers block on what comes next. But I do promise not to leave you hanging, I will finish this. Please stay with me. R & R._


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